


The Nightcap

by Coffee_Reveries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Detectives, F/M, First Time, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 02:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19966594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Reveries/pseuds/Coffee_Reveries
Summary: Harry and Hermione, lifelong friends and a duo of wizarding detectives find themselves sharing a nightcap after closing yet another case, but this time, however, it seems they are finally on the same page.





	The Nightcap

{the nightcap}

…

**_Summer of 2012_ **

_..._

Hermione sat just as she often did on the corner of his wooden desk. It was a night just like many others they’d shared before, unwinding after a particularly complicated case in Harry’s ministry office. Yet, it felt just a slight bit warmer, stuffier even, and Harry was acutely aware of her milky legs swinging softly back and forth from within her pleated dark skirt, her energy as boundless as a child’s despite the late hour and their gruesome day of work. Her hip was a mere two inches from his hand that played with a decorative golden snitch absentmindedly. She’d long slipped off the black Mary Jane heels, the only kind she ever wore, the curve of her feet having arched perfectly to reach the bottom drawer, revealing his bottle of firewhiskey.

  


She’d eyed him knowingly with those big brown eyes shining with amusement and promptly pulled it out along with the single glass in which she poured the amber liquid that they almost always shared, passing the glass to one another and refilling it several times. There wasn’t much talking in these instances, it wasn’t absolutely necessary when it came to them. Just Hermione’s company was all Harry needed to feel his worries melt away, for him to catch his breath and regain his peace of mind. Sometimes it wore him down, this world they lived in, the terrible crimes they’d had to investigate. He admired her greatly--her steely resolve, her objectivity, her attention to detail that made all the difference. He also admired her unwavering strength, nothing seeming to ever deter her--not fear, nor shock and definitely not pain. But Hermione was well aware of that already and they both knew how Harry felt things all too strongly, all too personally. It was his _saving people thing_ , a sometimes dire condition that Hermione capably diagnosed him with long ago. Harry smiled to himself at the strangely fond memory, for many things had changed about them in the twenty-five years since their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express, but one thing that most likely would never change about Hermione Granger was her arrogance when it came to her intellect. He and everyone else dear to her had long made peace with the fact that she would always be that same bushy-haired know-it-all from their childhood. Hermione had miffed him with that aspect of her personality a number of times through the years, hell, even last week, but Harry had to admit that it made her all the more human and amazing to him. And Merlin, these days everything about her seemed to be amazing.

  
  


What Harry hoped Hermione wouldn’t notice were the _other_ little things about her that made him admire her, things probably too inappropriate for a friendship as old and precious as theirs. For instance, Harry loved the honey-brown ringlets that escaped her usual updos and ponytails and that he always wanted so badly to twirl around his finger. He also couldn’t help but feel hot and bothered (though he seemed to hide it efficiently) when she kneeled or bowed down to examine a corpse, piece of evidence or attentively read something because he could see through the collar of her shirts the curve of her generous breasts--their pallor and delicacy confined within French-laced bras. He hoped she didn’t notice how much he absolutely wanted to ravish her when she bit her bottom lip when deep in thought, or chewed on the edge of her muggle pen, because one simply couldn’t do _that_ with a feather-tipped wizarding quill. Harry admired her lovely lips tinged raspberry or deep crimson colour when she felt the rare need to “make a greater effort” as she once so eloquently put it, applying the aforementioned lipstick usually after lunch dates in which her mother reminded her that the old biological clock was ticking...

  


He was suddenly shaken from his thoughts when his seeker reflexes caught sight of her crossing her legs, revealing a great deal of thigh to him. His eyes followed the movement and he couldn’t help but swallow deeply from the temptation that a simple movement represented. He tried his hardest to ignore the soft-looking pale curve of her thigh, and just how much he desired to sink his teeth in her flesh and kiss and explore every inch of her body. His eyes traveled up her figure and when his eyes locked with hers, brown orbs sparkling with mischief, the corner of her lips curved upwards as she drank down the last contents of their shared glass. He immediately realized what she was doing and also realized that Hermione realized what he’d done, what he felt, what he wanted.

  


Harry’s heartbeat quickened and immediately began to pound in his chest. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, the slight trembling of his breath. Still, he couldn’t for the life of him turn his eyes away. She was well aware of this when she leaned further back on the desk, supported by her hand, curls falling behind her shoulders, revealing the curve of her elegant neck and jawline. The silk thin-strapped blouse she wore leaving little of her decolletage to the imagination. He watched as she set the old glass aside, her fingers momentarily brushing against his, causing him to slightly jump from the electric currents of her touch. Her eyes darkened and flashed back onto his--she’d felt it too. She continued to eye him with eyes sharp, analyzing, but that wicked grin still played on the corner of her lips. Finally, in what felt like hours later Hermione managed to speak.

  


“Nightcap, Harry?” She finally offered in a whisper. He glanced at the now empty bottle sitting on his desk and snickered silently, not at all oblivious to the message behind her words, themselves uttered many occasions before, but never like _this_. Though they were well into the summer season, nothing could possibly explain why on earth his office suddenly felt like this much of an inferno. 

  


No, something shifted between them just now, the word and his name having slipped off her tongue holding much more meaning than usual. Her words held _promise_.

  


Of course, they’d flirted before and he and everyone else had grown used to her daily need to clear some piece of invisible fluff from his shirt or slip her delicate arm in the crook of his own. Of course, he nor anyone else were oblivious to the fact that when it came to the two of them in a room there was no such thing as personal space. One thing that _had_ changed about Hermione Granger was her forwardness and he blamed it on her living in the continent for so many years and a long parade of Latin and Slavic lovers--and one thing about him was that despite his stoicism and his valiant attempts at self-control, he was still a hot-blooded man.

  


He felt a rush of affection for her overtake him, and desire too, which in turn made him feel confident enough to attempt at confirming the double entendre of her offer. So he grazed the side of her curvy thighs with the back of his fingers, so gently that he noticed her shiver and goosebumps rise on her skin, but no resistance whatsoever. He smiled to himself and then did it again, though this time his fingers caressed her from the knee upwards, making their way up slowly along her side, passing her waist and the swell of her breast and neck until his fingers caught one of those delightful golden-brown curls, fingertips finally able to fulfill that longing to twirl. As he tucked the curl behind her ear, his green eyes piercing into hers and his finger grazing her cheek, he was slightly shocked by the sheer intimacy of something seemingly so insignificant.

  


“I’ll have to think about your offer, _Professor Granger_ …” She smiled at his use of her professional title. Somehow, with time, addressing her by it had gone from professionally formal to affectionate and she found herself adoring every syllable of it.

  


“If you say no Harry Potter, I’ll hex you into the next millennium…” Hermione finally threatened, her voice raspy and breathless from the effect of his touch on her, nothing like any of his previous touches. Her dark eyes, full of danger and desire were locked with his once again.

  


Hermione wasn’t the sort of witch who waited, she usually barged in and did things herself, always the woman of initiative. Tonight was no different, but with Harry being Harry she found herself deeply needing him to want her just as she wanted him. 

  


When his lips suddenly widened into that stupid lopsided grin that always made her insides melt like butter, she felt relief wash over her. Confidence was still something that didn’t come easily, it was much simpler to hide behind the mask of efficiency or wit. But right now, witnessing his eyes so dark and full of desire for _her_ \--it took Hermione’s breath away and made every inch of her being tingle with anticipation.

  


When Harry’s hands cupped her face, fingertips tangling into her hair, her heart seemed to skip a beat as the tip of his nose pressed softly against hers, their lips just centimeters apart, his shallow breathing carrying the scent of whiskey and the chocolate cake he’d eaten earlier in the day. It warmed her heart how Harry had the palate of a little boy still, with just a few adult indulgences such as firewhiskey here and there.

  


“ _Harry--_ ” she breathed out, begging him to kiss her already.

  


“There will be no going back, ‘Mione.” He told her, his voice hoarse and just above a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered open as she processed his words, the realization dawning on her. They were on the same page, _finally_. Those pesky butterflies fluttered again in her stomach.

  


“Kiss me then...” She responded with a cheeky, happy, drunk-with-desire smile, brown eyes shining so beautifully. And Harry did, with the passion and urgency of a starving man before a feast.

…

  


Harry smoothly bunched up the pleated fabric of her skirt, his hands longing to explore her and carve into his memory every inch, every delicate moan, whimper and shiver of pleasure. His fingertips grazed the edge of her knickers, an action that made her squirm with delight. He chuckled dryly to himself as with the other hand he parted her legs, positioning himself between her thighs. Her leg hooked itself around his shoulder, pulling him closer. Hermione’s eyes slid shut in pure, unabashed delight as Harry’s lips nipped and suckled on the delicate skin of her inner thigh and traveled deeper inside her skirt until his warm tongue lapped against her womanhood, separated only by a thin layer of lace. He teased her over her knickers and she both hated and loved him for it, writhing in pleasure with each stroke or probing of his tongue, wishing nothing more than for him to rip the stupid knickers off her, no matter how expensive the investment.

  


His finger expertly moved the hem of the knickers aside, and just the fleeting feel of it against the throbbing sensitivity of her mound made Hermione struggle for breath. She was wet with warm desire for him, five years’ worth of desire if she was perfectly honest.

  


Her fingers buried themselves within the raven silkiness of his hair, urging him to continue his kissing, sucking and probing of her sex. She could feel the waves of arousal overcoming her entire body, trembling out of her own accord as his tongue flicked her clitoris and fingers finally invaded her. His fingers were strong, slightly rough and calloused from all of the broom flying and the physical aspects of his Auror career and _Merlin_ , how she was thankful for it as he drove them in and out of her ever-tightening flesh. Her eyes fluttered closed and all she could see were stars, thousands of them, dancing around as her entire body tensed and the waves of her climax overcame her, limbs trembling and raspy groans and moans escaping her lips, a string of filthy words she would never otherwise utter as well.

  


Harry felt her inner-walls constrict around his fingers and with one clockwise rub of his thumb over her clit she came completely undone around them, his tongue and lips taking the sweet-salty flavour of her all in, suckling and nibbling, her legs so wrapped around his shoulders she could smother him if she wanted to.

  


His heartbeat rapidly in his chest as he waited for her to finish riding it out, ministering sweet, wet kisses against her soft, delicate skin, until he pulled himself out of her skirt and his eyes met with her heavily-lidded ones, her cheeks flaming red and honey-golden curls wild from the sensation, from the intensity of her magic. She was exquisite, absolutely exquisite and he could easily think of one hundred other ways in which he wished to draw this same reaction from her.

  


“How’s _that_ for a nightcap?” He finally whispered to her, his voice deep and husky as his lips angled for hers.

  


Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling into a kiss less desperate and feverish than the first, but in no way lacking desire. Hermione lived for the heady taste of herself on his tongue, and the combination of the fine quality whiskey and also the sweetness of dessert. Her fingers slid down and began to loosen his tie, something she’d always fantasized of doing, unfastening each button as if her very life depended on it.

  


“I surely wouldn’t mind more…” She finally responded, her clever, shiny eyes locking with his and her lips swollen from their kisses, pulling his shirt finally off him, eyes feasting over his muscles and his small collection of scars from the years of war and policing, her fingers tracing and grazing over each one until they traveled further down, landing on the stiff bulge of his trousers, tented by the length of his arousal. She expertly unbuckled his leather belt and pulled them off, revealing his length in all of its glory. _Harry Potter did not disappoint._ Was all she wickedly thought as her fingers attempted to clasp around it, too thick to be encircled. She watched with unabashed eyes as he groaned from her ministrations, rubbing, squeezing and sliding up and down his shaft.

  


“ _Oh for fuck's sake, Hermione…_ ” He cursed as she squeezed him on the sensitive head.

  


She snickered at his reaction, thinking him both the cutest and sexiest man she’s ever had the pleasure to shag--she couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him again, her hand still stroking his shaft.

  


He kissed her down the curve of her neck, suckling at the delicate skin there, taking in her scent of vanilla and signature perfume, making his way down to her collarbone, and then burying himself in her cleavage, pressing an adoring wet kiss in the valley between her breasts. His hands bunched up the silk fabric of her blouse and pulled it over her head, freeing her and granting him the much-anticipated access.

  


Hermione wore an ivory lace bra today, proudly holding the plentiful beauty that was her breasts. Harry could still remember the awkward, late-blooming teenager she once was, but that was ancient history now that he took her in. She’d filled in quite nicely in the years following the war, her curves feminine and voluptuous in the perfect amount. The years spent in France and Italy had given her a new appreciation for food, adding to her allure. She was like one of those renaissance sculptures or paintings... Hermione was what a perfect-looking woman was to him.

  


“What?” She asked him, curiously watching his pause after he removed her shirt. She felt a slight cringe deep in her belly, her girlhood insecurities threatening to escape.

  


It was for just a split second, but he’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her eyebrows furrowed for just a moment.

  


“You’re beautiful, Hermione,” he told her with a heart-stopping tenderness, emerald-eyes piercing into her own. And then out came that smile again, so much love reflected on his handsome face that she couldn’t breathe. And then the smugness as his hands cupped her breasts, lips kissing her soft cool skin still bound by lace. “And these were all I fantasized about.” She bit her bottom lip as another wave of arousal dampened her womanhood, her energy renewed. She shivered as his fingers slid each strap down her shoulders, unhooking her bra as if she were some sort of goddess or a sacred entity.

  


When it fell to the ground he hummed in appreciation before cupping and kneading them, Hermione’s hardened pink nipples brushing against his palms, between his fingers and then his lips and teeth as he completely tormented her.

  


His lips suckled on her earlobe, making goosebumps rise on her skin yet again. She pulled him by the hair for another kiss, hot, pulsing, the tension and desire between them escalating. All Harry knew was that he wanted her, wanted to be inside of her, fill her, ram into her until nothing else mattered and no one else but them.

  


He pressed himself further closer to her, grabbing her arse and pulling her against him. She panted as she felt his fingers press into her sex, feeling the moisture there, her desire for him. Harry buried himself deep inside of her in one sure stroke, filling her completely. Hermione’s thighs wrapped around his hips and her arms wound tight around his neck as he thrust, propelling himself deeper within her, so fast and strong she couldn’t help but cry out, the wooden desk creaking beneath them, his chest heaving and hers too. Harry breathlessly cursed and grunted as her body closed tightly around him. He buried his face in the valley of her breasts yet again as his lips and moans touched her perfumed skin, driving him mad. She felt him spasm inside of her, his pace quicken and with one heavy cry, Hermione made cried loudly, throwing her head backward, losing all senses as she came undone, nails burying into his flesh and tugging at his hair. He felt her body tremble against his, and held her thighs tightly around him, pressing her firmly against the wall. He pressed his forehead on hers as his shaft continued to reel hard and hot against her, her breath shallow, cheeks flushed and lips gently parted.

  


He was almost there when she captured his lips, his movements becoming slower and more erratic as she tightened again against him, her kiss hot and without a hurry in the world, taking in his moans, her fingers caressing the skin of his back, her chest glued to his. Her hand traveled down, making him deliciously shiver and she grabbed his round arse with a triumphant grin as his lips pressed on to her collarbone and he came completely undone inside of her, flooding her with his seed. He continued to advance inside of her, pushing her impossibly into the wall, pounding into her with wanton abandon until she cried out a breathy _fuck_ and came again herself, covered in sweat, limbs going weak from the intensity of it. Harry inhaled deeply and she could feel the vibration of his silent laughter against her chest, and then open-mouthed kisses that lapped on to the delicious salt on her skin.

“My house or yours?” She asked him finally, amusement and tenderness in her voice as she ran her palm along his stubble. He seemed to chuckle again and then sighed in defeat.

  


“I can’t fucking _move_ Hermione!” She laughed heartily, her eyes shining and skin glistening from post-coital bliss.

  


“The carpet then…” She suggested, as she untangled herself from him and her feet finally touched the parquet floors. She found her wand on top of the desk and locked the office doors with the mutter of a spell under her lips. He pulled her under the wooden desk and covered her with his shirt as she rested her arm across his chest, fingers playing with the overgrown hair behind his ear, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

  


“If you weren’t so stubborn Harry we could have done that when you were a younger man…” She faux-admonished him with a sense of humor that one didn’t witness too often rolling off her lips. He rolled his eyes and pulled her closer, a part of him unbelieving that all of _that_ had just transpired between them--twenty-five years in the making.

  


“Ah, but you didn’t have such _wonderful_ breasts then…” She smacked him playfully on the arm.

  


“ _I love you, you know?”_ She whispered with a shyness that wasn’t typical of her. He nodded.

  
  
“ _I know_ … Can all our further nightcaps be like this one?” She laughed, loving him more than anything and anyone, a big yes shining in her eyes. “I’ve always loved you, even when I didn’t know I did.” He pulled her in for the sweetest and tamest of kisses, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
